


Habari Gani (What's the News?)

by AllWhoWander (phobean)



Category: Black Panther (2018), Generation X (Comic), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies), X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men: The Animated Series
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, BAMF Brunnhilde | Valkyrie (Marvel), Black Panther (2018) - Freeform, Canon Character of Color, Character Study, Demigods, Gen, Goats, Goddesses, Marvel Universe, POV Character of Color, POV Female Character, POV Jubilee, POV Male Character, POV Okoye, POV Sam Wilson, POV Shuri, Post-Black Panther (2018), Sam Wilson is So Done, Sam Wilson-centric, Shopping Malls, Thor (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Wakanda (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-01-22 11:40:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 3,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21301451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phobean/pseuds/AllWhoWander
Summary: Canon person-of-color point-of-view snippets 'n drabbles for NaNoWriMo 2019
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	1. What's In A Mall? - Jubilee

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by National Novel Writing Month, and the community of writers who dive into the annual word-sprint, these drabbles will spotlight canon characters of color from my favorite comics and movies-inspired-by-comics. In the past, I've jammed out crappy 50K-word novel-thingys that I forever hide from the world. For this round, I'm interested to devote time to masterclass lessons from the indisputable, indefatigable, inspiring, pragmatic, kind and kinda hilarious Ursula K. Le Guin, via her tiny, powerful "Steering the Craft - A 21st Century Guide to Sailing the Sea of Story." I'll be posting the lessons as I write them, largely under-edited. Consequentially, tags will be updated as I go. VERY un-beta-ed. Errors and even worse errors are my own; characters and other IP belong to their rightful originators. I borrow them out of love.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After years away, Jubes returns to the mall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Exercise One: Being Gorgeous - Part One: Write a paragraph to a page of narrative that's meant to be read aloud." - p8, Steering the Craft (2015 Mariner Books paperback edition)

The mall hadn't changed much. Or, yeah, okay, maybe it had: fewer every-person department stores selling tires and camping gear and plaid; fewer high end walk-on-through-you-can't-afford-this money suckers with shine-tastic make-up counters arranged in geometric, semi-inescapable patterns; more gleaming floors; more cultures represented in the food court (which country begot Cinnabons, again?), and more unaccompanied, harried-looking adults.

It was the sheer numbers of adults that surprised her. What were they all doing? Just . . . buying stuff? For who? How strange. In her day Jubilee hadn't gone to the mall to buy stuff and jet. She went to hang out, to socialize, to survey her territory like Mufasa and Simba at the top of their cliff ("This will all be MINE?”). To live because, of course, at that point, Jubes had been orphaned, run out, and homeless.

In the years since, after joining up with said rough band of misfit super-humans, Jubilee hadn't returned often to her stomping grounds. Barely even thought about the place, really, what with saving the world and saving her own butt countless times. Hadn't missed the mall, hadn't missed wondering about her next meal, hadn't waisted time oggling the happy looking families coming in to buy their wicker hampers and Eastpak backpacks and 8000 thread count sheets.


	2. Reeling in Place - Sam Wilson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, after The Snap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Exercise One: Being Gorgeous - Part Two: In a paragraph or two, describe an action, or a person feeling strong emotion -joy, fear, grief." - p9, Steering the Craft (2015 Mariner Books paperback edition)

In his time as a rescue professional, Sam had witnessed many people stand or stumble, reeling so hard they gave the impression of having frozen; overwhelmed beyond sense-making; succumbed to what had been impossible. If a person could translate what seemed reasonable (in an ordinary human life) to miles, well, last week Sam's world veered sharply left and then, with a conspicuous clanging emanating from somewhere near the proverbial tail pipe, leapt from the road, transformed into a different mode entirely, and zoomed hundreds of miles off-course. Sam's expectations, Sam's life before The Snap: a faltering spark in the sky.


	3. Down from on High -Okoye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okoye hears a welcome sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exercise Two: Am I Saramago "Write a paragraph to a page of narrative with no punctuation (and no paragraphs or other breaking devices.)” - - p18, Steering the Craft (2015 Mariner Books paperback edition)

Thunder rose up from the Earth the rumbling vibration was exhilarating and peculiar and mostly unknown in Wakanda trains with their integrated vibranium sailed smoothly along their rails and most other vehicles in the country were outfitted with technology that ensured sound and sight integration into their environments this rumble was of a singular specific source Okoye recognized it instantly all around her was chaos but the ground-thunder awoke her sensual memories sitting on a fence post curiously watching them train sitting on that same post observing a young man learn how to work with them how to protect them with gleaming silver plates how to scritch their ears and scratch their thick hides using a knobby branch sitting on yet another fence post and finding it difficult to pull her eyes from one young man in the early days much was new to her but this sound quickly became a Known in her life a sound she would recognize until the time of her death this smell this shaking which should set her teeth to clenching should put her nerves on edge should curl her toes in their leather thongs and instead reminded her of home with the rumble came the rush the quiet heat of fondness Never would her expression reveal it but Okoye was elated that the rhinos had arrived that finally finally here they were they were here and thus the situation had greatly improved now the fight might turn now their opponents would get ground into the earth beneath their wide gray feet Okoye allowed a smile the rhinos were down from on high and now was she ready to win


	4. Sparkles FTW - Jubilee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who's that behind the column over there? ZAP.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exercise Three: Short and Long - Part One: Write a paragraph of narrative, 100-150 words, in sentences of seven or fewer words. No sentence fragments! --p32, Steering the Craft (2015 Mariner Books paperback edition)

The sky flashed. Jubilee stepped behind a column. She raised a hand, palm out. She spread her fingers. Her veins ran cool, then hot. Tingling static arched along the webbing. Jubilee sucked in a breath. The static increased, tiny pops and crackles. The crackles became sizzles. The sizzles vibrated, agitated. One shot off, yellow and white. Another zipped away, then another. Lifting her eyes, Jubilee spied the target. He was tall and broad; heavy. To move him, she needed maximum power. Her cute sizzles had to become zaps. His head turned slightly. Jubilee ducked. The column, though thick, couldn't hide her. Light bled; other users might detect it. To succeed, she had to be quick. Deepening her breathing, Jubilee shut her eyes. Her shoulders sank. Her brow furrowed. She wiggled her fingers. She willed the tingles bigger, bolder. She pictured her hand consumed in light. In her mind, sparkles erupted. She imagined a comet arching. It leapt up and out. It crossed the dark space. It arrived, bloated with her energy. From the air, her sparkles grounded. The man staggered, surprised. He shouted. An answering shout burst from her. Jubilee darted around the column, hands out. Her fingers seemed to pulse and glow. Sparks flew; light flashed. What she had built up poured forth. He staggered and went to one knee. Though, the mood quickly changed. She recognized the sound of Thor's laughter. He was saying I yield, I yield. Ok, firecracker, Thor told Jubilee. You win.


	5. Who's Who Among the Beautiful People - Nakia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nakia surveys the beautiful ones . . . and the awkward ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Exercise Three: Short and Long- Part Two - Write a half-page to a page of narrative, up to 350 words, that is all one sentence." p32, Steering the Craft (2015 Mariner Books paperback edition)

Nakia sipped from her glass and observed the room: curiously attired diplomats new to Wakanda, her mother country unfurled to the globe like a flower turned to confront the sun from beneath a sheltered thicket; her colleagues (after a fashion), the Dora Milaje, who stood, firm and regal, acutely attentive in the grand hall --like deadly accompaniments to the modern, sophisticated furnishings; a small band of fellow War Dogs, cleaned up, gleaming with health, and possibly the most confident people in the room --an impressive feat considering their aforementioned sisters-in-arms; the Princess, who bounced about displaying her usual wit and pluck, her particular brand of eager, nerdy innocence --Nakia knew better than to mistake Shuri for incapable or underprepared, even as the young woman played at rejecting adult things --like titles, reservedness, and formal speech-- between them they shared a decade of chasing the same goals and, besides, they held in common the elder Royal Sibling who this moment was absent, and who was scheduled to appear shortly and captivate the room, every eye appraising him for numerous reasons --most unrelated to his hard-won wisdom, gentleness or physical beauty; several of The Black Panther's newest allies, obviously uncomfortable as they tripped about in formal outfits gifted them from the Panther tribe, particularly Sam Wilson who, Nakia noted with amusement, seemed unsure where to place his arms and was so helplessly distracted by this that he missed many women and several men turning him curious, appreciative eyes even while his one-armed, white brother-in-arms, with whom he bickered endlessly, hid smiles behind his wine and steered Sam as deftly as the goat herder he was, so the Falcon ever faced the wrong direction; and, finally Nakia turned her appraisal on herself, though she could not see what others saw peering up at her, she knew she was lovely, resplendent in greens and golds, cropped curls shining with oil, skin dusted with subtle, effective sparkles --looking not half as dangerous as she could be, which suited her fine.


	6. This Isn't a Joke, THOR --Jubilee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jubes is seriously making an effort. Act right, Thor!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exercise Three: Short and Long - Part One - Revisit: Write a paragraph of narrative, 100-150 words, in sentences of seven or fewer words. No sentence fragments! --p33, Steering the Craft (2015 Mariner Books paperback edition)

"It's rude," Jubilee thought. "To be giant AND electric (boogie-woogie-woogie-woogie.)"

Silently, she watched him. Thor with his tree-trunk legs, planted. Mjolnir swung lose at his side. His red cape waved softly —magic wind? God, dude was annoying, so overconfident. She itched to Pikachu him right up.

Thor turned his head slightly.

Jubilee ducked further behind her column.

"He feels me staring?" She wondered.

She thought next, "Duh —what am I saying? This is a training exercise. Of course Thor knows I'm watching!"

What he didn't know was who. Whose dark eyes tracked his movements? Who plotted his quick, embarrassing defeat. Whose fingers itched to blow him up?

She had to be stealthy. Once Thor detected her —game over! :-(

Speaking of itchy fingers —she wiggled them. Raising a hand, Jubilee shut her eyes. In her mind, she set a spark. It fizzled between her first two fingers.

"I need more," she thought. "I gotta go big, or go home."

Fizzles grew into sparks and pops. Each finger flickered, like a candle. Jubilee's hand was a trick birthday cake. Soon it'd be in flames. Ok, no —she needed a better analogy.

"Snap, crackle, pop . . . Thor-crispies," Jubilee muttered.

Pressed flush against column, she braced herself. Both hands steadily, audibly sizzling. In Jubilee's imagination, static leapt. It crossed the short distance, and . . .

RL granted her wish, her deepest desire. Jubilee’s eyes snapped open. She watched a beautiful firework arch out. It landed. Suddenly, Thor was hard to look upon. A glowing, fuzzy-white thing keeled over.

Jubilee immediately darted out, hands thrust forward.

“Time for the grand finale!" She shouted over her noisy powers.

Sparks flew and whistled and flashed. Thor got zapped good -- but not enough? Sounds coming from him were . . . laughter. Jubilee inched closer. She doubled down, gritted her teeth. Beneath the assault, Thor grinned. Did he think this was fun??

"I yield, little firecracker," Thor waved cheerfully. "You, win!"

Jubilee glowered.


	7. The Light Loves Them Up - Nakia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wakanda's sun shines it's pleasure on them all, even Sam Wilson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Exercise Three: Short and Long- Part Two - Revisit: Write a half-page to a page of narrative, up to 350 words, that is all one sentence." p32, Steering the Craft (2015 Mariner Books paperback edition)

Pinkie wrapped loosely around the stem, Nakia lifted the glass --swirled it, deep-plum wine rolled leisurely up the bowl, and down again-- turned to slowly scan the room and note the notable: six Dora Milaje crossing before her, their heads habitually high, light loving their skin, showing up the reds, blues, yellows --one guard turned her amber eyes on Nakia and dipped her chin almost imperceptibly; a trio whom Nakia knew to be War Dogs, cleaned up from their customary drab and olive, wrapped in greens, golds, cream, and sand, now laughing with their teeth flashing wide and white; many pale, lank-haired strangers, contrasting strangely with the Wakandans, born-and-raised and noticeably at ease despite the tender newness and uncertainty of their country unfurling to the wider world like a hardy, rare flower turning petals toward an uncertain sun, (still, they enjoyed the comfort and advantage of being on home turf) --all of these people in one room together; Nakia found her new reality somewhat difficult to accept yet she believed that this moment, as unimportant as it seemed, was equally remarkable; these people were remarkable --even that awkward American, Sam Wilson, who seemed to not know where to place his arms and walked with them slightly out as though he was afraid to touch and accidentally harm the azure and yellow fabric of his embroidered jacket-- and, maybe among them Nakia was less unique than usual, and maybe this was a welcome change --one she didn't mind, a newness that she looked forward to, more and more each day.


	8. With the Mountain Tribe - Shuri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shuri sees her brother for the first time, after his fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exercise Four: Again and Again and Again - Part One: Verbal Repetition
> 
> Write a paragraph of narrative (150 words) that includes at least three repetitions of a noun, verb, or adjective ( a noticeable word, not an invisible one like was, said, did). 
> 
> p41, Steering the Craft (2015 Mariner Books paperback edition)

"On ice," Shuri thought to herself.

It was a description, a phrase, a saying she knew, certainty. Sure, she'd grown up hot and warm —sun-touched and sun-loved— but Shuri knew ice. She was familiar with the mountains, the edge of Wakanda where the Jabari Tribe had long-ago retreated.

When necessary, Shuri wore knits and wools and furs to ward off the fingers of ice that would freeze her skin, pierce her sense of comfort, of warmth.

Shuri didn't let ice go unchecked, unquestioned. She preferred her ice in a tray featuring sixteen rectangular slots. Under shrimps, beneath oysters, mussels, and surrounding clams, ice served a vital role. In a glass, ice appealed, partnered with citrus fruit and maybe CO2 —bubbly, icy, ephemeral delight. 

Ice was a treat, and ice could treat. It offered an antidote to bumps or scrapes or punches. As second child, daughter of royalty, Shuri had been taught how to protect herself with fists, a wooden staff, shooting weapons, her voice, and her brain. She was no stranger to ice wrapped in a soft cloth, pressed against her eye, elbow, knee.

No stranger but how shockingly, awfully, bone-rattlingly strange to look upon her brother's —the King’s— dark body struck down, unmoving; laid out on ice.


	9. These Trying Times, Blessed Be - Shuri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shuri makes like a tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exercise Four: Again and Again and Again - Part Two: Structural Repetition 
> 
> Write a short narrative (350-1000 words) in which something is said or done and then something is said or done that echoes or repeats it, perhaps in a different context, or by different people, or on a different scale.
> 
> p41-42, Steering the Craft (2015 Mariner Books paperback edition)

Shuri tugged at the heel notches of her high tops, adjusting their fit. Stooped over a bent knee, she watched through her eyelashes the feet of passers-by. Beyond, the market grounds sparkled with quiet, steady activity. 

Ordinarily, 1 pm on a Tuesday would see Wakanda's Princess returning to her lab from a meeting or popping by to chat up a colleague. Wednesdays, she lectured at a lunchtime brown bag series hosted at the free Community Education center she'd helped establish back when she was a precocious teen (like, a whole two years ago). The rest of the week, and on weekends when country or familial duties permitted, she obsessed over any number of consuming projects or caught up with friends.

Today, a Friday, Shuri was playing hooky, as the saying went. Quaint. She didn't know what to which a "hooky" referred, but felt confidence in her ability to knock hooky right out-of-the-park (also quaint) --sneaking off for a few hours, or even half a day, unnoticed.

Straightening, Shuri smoothed soft cloth against her cheeks with both hands and re-wrapped the trailing lengths of a head scarf she wore to obscure her identity (like Clarke’s glasses). Complete anonymity was impossible (c’mon —who wouldn’t recognize Superman?), but market shoppers were accustomed to their Princess's appearances. She and the stall owners, pop-up entrepreneurs, patrons, and gawkers abided by an unspoken agreement: if Shuri didn't stroll, bold and friendly with her braids shining, kimoyo beads catching light and admiring glances, then everyone ignored her. She went as she would.

Now, Shuri wove through the market, pausing at a stall or two to purchase small bundles which she slipped into an sleek over-the-shoulder pack. 

At the market’s furthest edge, her white-toed sneakers scuffed hard-packed earth and sent up puffs of golden dust. Shuri took a moment to gaze over her shoulder at the color-and-pattern saturated twists and turns, to the edge of the Royal Grounds, heartened to witness contentment after the past few years of chaos followed by uncertainty. Wakanda was forever changed, as was the rest of the globe —a new, wilder, weirder normal had settled in.

Speaking of unusual, she plucked a charm from her bracelet and dropped it into the dust. It gleamed like a coin until a touch to her bracelet resulted in a blinking light; next clicking, beeping, and a low blowing sound, as from a tiny fan.

The oblong charm grew and stretched and unfolded, plumping up into what looked like an inflatable skateboard. No --_was_ an inflatable _longboard_. Shuri stomped the tail, flipping the deck up to reveal the lack of wheels and a illustration of the Golden City at night, with a train winding through like a magnetic serpent.

She dropped the board, touched a combination on her beads that prompted more blowing sounds. Her ride rose to hover an inches above the earth. Shuri stepped on and leaned forward, the board carrying her quickly away from the market on it's plateau, down a path that led deeper into the city. 

Neighborhoods slid by, the city stretching out until it looked less modern-urban and more village, and then less village and more grasslands with the occasional herder, wrapped in a vividly-colored long blanket peacefully wandering after a heard. Shuri smiled to see them, and kept going.

Grass became hills grew into higher hills dotted with circular huts and the rare, glass and concrete modernist structure. Shuri circumvented the bumpy bits --her ride was built for smoother surfaces. She knew the way well enough, following the landscape by sight and memory. 

Just beyond the halfway point to her destination, Shuri was interrupted by a chiming coming from her wrist. _Ugh._ Not _that_ pattern.

Tapping the offending bead, she spoke out into the air and the emptiness.

"I am unavailable," she said.

“So you are.” said her brother. "Well, then. I suppose I will ring Stark's protege and request--"

"Treason!" Shuri scowled at a poor, defenseless low-bush shrub. "You will do no such thing!" 

The King's laughter peeled out, startling a quail into flight, which in turn off-balanced Shuri, who flung out her arms to regain her equilibrium, the sharp movement slowing the long board from it's fast clip across the landscape.

"Why do you pester me like this?" She complained, stopping to hover in place. She tapped a different bead and T'Challa's handsome face appeared before her.

"One supposes a brother misses his sister," he said.

"One supposes NOT," Shuri replied tartly, tugging at the strap of her pack where it was sliding off her shoulder. "I haven't been gone an hour. How could anyone miss me?"

T’Challa considered. "You underestimate our reliance on you," he stated and then made a point of gazing wonderingly at the landscape. "It appears you have left Kansas."

Shuri rolled her eyes, “What do you want?"

"Reasonable assurance of your safety and continued good health in these uncertain times," T’Challa replied. "Especially since you elected to depart the Golden City without proper escort, failed to alert your family or Okoye of your intention to travel outside of protected zones, and carrying only a daypack -if my eyes serve me, which they do- and--"

"Okay, okay, okay!" Shuri interrupted, "I get it. I did not mean to worry you, big brother, or upset your delicate--"

"AND," He wrested the conversation back. "I wanted to be certain you would not fail to share my tidings with our mutual friend, whom of course you're off to visit."

Shuri considered the non-question, then shrugged.

"If you aren't planning to visit the goatherd," T'Challa's voice now rang with a firmer tone. “I can order up a guard and rhino escort . . ."

The siblings eyed one another. They held tension equally, easily —two who knew each other unequivocally, who dipped in and out of argument and affection, trust and competition, frustration and laughter as only siblings such as they could; their relationship, self-knowledge, and other-knowledge twisting and dipping, their thoughts fleet as terns darting across the coast on an updraft, surveying the land below and then turning again and sailing, wings cocked, over the roiling seas. 

Younger though she was, Shuri won the staring contest as she usually did.

Hologram T'Challa bowed his head, "But I don't need to send an escort because you are capable. Of course."

"And safe in my mother country," Shuri added. "Bast, and our Ancestors, watch over us, blessed they be. Also . . . the goatherd. I will tell him you called him that."

With a snort, T'Challa saluted -_Wakanda forever_\- and hung up.

Shuri blew out a breath. Glancing down, she reached to tug again at the imaginary sag of her sneaker, and then brought both heels together --a quick tap for luck. (Quaint.) Blessed though she be. Repositioning herself on the board, Shuri spoke a voice command and was off.


	10. In Her Hands - The Valkyrie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She didn't drink to forget. What was there to remember?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exercise Five: Chasity
> 
> Write a paragraph to a page (200 to 350 words) of descriptive narrative prose without adjectives or adverbs. No dialogue.
> 
> p45, Steering the Craft (2015 Mariner Books paperback edition)

She held things: a sword, a remote, blasters, the directionals on a spaceship, liquor. Among options, should she be gifted choice, the Valkyrie chose liquor. Color didn't matter. Taste was of no consequence. She concerned herself with two things: access and volume. Drugs did not appeal to the Valkyrie. Options overwhelmed while experience underwhelmed. Her goal: saturation and continuity. Each turn of the planet, she worked, drank, fought, and slept. Time passed and it did not. The Valkyrie’s past had been swallowed by sorrow. The future she gave to bottles. Now was naught. Nothing mattered; not her role, not her decisions, not her fears. When desired, she caught flotsam and delivered it to Sakaar to trade. She did not need to. When the Valkyrie had landed planet-side, she sourced liquor. She did not trade for it; she took it. She took and took until she found herself in a ring --a Colosseum-- standing in sand, surrounded by blood and bodies. At first, she felt . . . _something_. She felt the rush The press of strength against hers. She heard screams and cheering. First turn of the ring, _she_ \--the awarenesses within the Valkyrie-- engaged. With victory, the awareness receded. She told herself: you do not care. The Valkyrie won and won and woke up seated in a ship, booze in hand. How had she arrived (no matter)? She drank fire. She faded. She competed in the ring. She took a number, a position, a title. Time advanced. Until _he_ appeared, she did not exist outside herself. When Green showed up, things got . . . interesting.


	11. Blessed She Be - Bast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Panther Goddess Bast observes her worshippers at a shrine and remembers back to when she first arrived in Wakanda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exercise 6: The Old Woman
> 
> "The subject is this: An old woman is busy doing something --washing the dishes, or gardening, or editing a PhD dissertation in mathematics, whatever you like-- as she thinks about an event that happened in her youth. 
> 
> You're going to intercut between the two times. “Now” is where she is and what she's doing; “then” is her memory of something that happened when she was young. Your narration will move back and forth between “now” and “then.” 
> 
> You will make at least two of these moves or time jumps
> 
> This should run to a page or so; keep it short and not too ambitious, because you’re going to write the same story twice. 
> 
> Version 1: Person: Choose either first person (I) or third person (she). Tense: Tell it all in the past tense or all in the present tense. Make the shifts between “now” and “then” in her mind clear to the reader —don’t two-time us— but be subtle about it if you can."
> 
> p58, Steering the Craft (2015 Mariner Books paperback edition)

Time, for Her --for Bast, Blessed be, Silken furred, Stealth footed, She who Bestowed upon the Faithful and the Humble, fortune, foresight, and grace. For the Panther Goddess, time stretched. It curved. No lowly line, time looped continuously outwards in swirls and quirks. Bast's keen senses, Her mischief and Her boundless curiosity, inspired Her to try and catch curving time in two arched paws; to pounce on it like a slim snake in the bush and watch it attempt to twist away.

If One is Forever, how then does One observe an End? Bast perched on a massive branch and watched Her devoted through slitted emerald eyes. Most could not see Her as they dutifully scurried about. Near a stout but ancient tree in the midst of the Golden City, a favored perch, a small shrine had been erected in Her honor. It glistened with trickling water. Non-demigod-cats stopped and lapped at mineral deposits created by the slow flow of water over smooth, black stone. As She sat, watching, the cats’ pink tongues followed the curves of the statue’s face, paws, and ears.

_Cats always know when Bast is present. They arrive --slinking from beneath shrubs, trotting across the breezeway that connects sections of the Royal Grounds, and jumping down from a catwalk built into the side of the courtyard-- reverently approaching Her tree. They bow before the fountain and it’s solemn, sejant figure. Domestic cats, wild cats, big cats, and non-cats (humans, canines, birds, vermin) pay their respects to The One Who Watches, to The Keeper of Secrets, to Mother Panther._

Early on, before the She split from the Cousins -Sekmet the Lion, Sobek the Crocodile, and Ghekre the White Gorilla- time seemed pregnant. The approach of something novel appeared as a scent on the winds. She awaited it with keen appraisal; with a curious, twitching tail. But when it arrived, it came on a storm --crashing, flashing, striking down great limbs from great trees and tearing up Earth with lightening, burning bush until smoke mixed with water. The Cousins, soaked through with rain; caked with soot; shoved about and slapped by winds —the Cousins each responded as They would, characteristically.

_Ghekre is unafraid. Built to withstand, sturdy and bowed, the wind buffets over His back and does not move Him. Sobek, wet always, Friend to mud, to muck; They do not flinch. They slash Their tail and sink. Sekmet and Bast, furred, fanged, strong swimmers —inclined to caves and the highest reaches of trees and cliffs —They’re quickly outmatched by the sky’s fierce assault. They retreat. Sure paws flying, they dodge and scatter. Into the cave, scoots Sekmet but Bast cannot fit. She flees. Bast calls on Her inkiest fur and steals across lands, never stopping until She reaches one that receives Her, a land which pulses with something hidden and strange, but whose sky bids welcome, arms spread, palms open._

Time for Bast —a trick She didn’t quite understand. Curious, She watched over the march of Believers and Non. Looking down from the tree over the shrine at always new Observers and Non who approached or breezed by, unheeding. Could these creatures be the same, repeating across time? How would She know, Ancient She was, Blessed be, Silken furred, Stealth footed? Perhaps Bast should seek the Council of Ghekre or Sobek or Sekmet, long ago lost.


End file.
